Honey Bun
by Guardian Kysra
Summary: Takes place in Emaniahilel's Fableverse and features her original characters Nina and Paul (see It Only Takes a Moment Ch. XIII: Fear Factor). After many years of marriage, Nina gets some very unexpected news.
**Author's Note:** I'm a "late in life" first time mom. I was 28 when I started trying to get pregnant, 30 when I finally got pregnant, and 31 when I had my son. I'm nearly 36 now . . . and I've been thinking a lot about trying for a second baby (per the doctor, "don't wait another two years") and – as a result – I've also been going down memory lane regarding my first - very much planned – pregnancy since there is a good chance I won't have a second miracle. I went through a protracted fertility journey filled with doctors, drugs, multiple surgical procedures, trauma, uncertainty, blood, sweat, tears, and hope. At the end of the journey, when I was burnt out on hormones, let downs, seriously doubting my doctor's credibility (honestly, I still doubt it - I have since changed fertility doctors), and ready to just give up, I woke up on the 13th morning after my EIGHTH insemination (fourth in the doctor's office) at 4:05am, took my temperature and could barely believe my eyes that it was going up instead of down. I immediately took a pregnancy test . . . in the dark, without my glasses and COULD NOT believe my eyes (literally) when the digital read out said – plain as day – "pregnant". I had to turn on the light then get my glasses and I did NOT know what to do with myself. I paced and silently screamed for about 30 minutes before I calmed down enough to 1. Take a photo and 2. Hide all the evidence because I ultimately decided to wait to tell anyone until AFTER I had it confirmed by the doctor.

I spent many, many hours trying to figure out HOW, exactly I would tell the people closest to me – my parents, brother, Em, and a cousin. (I went through a variety of ideas and a modified version of one listed below WAS used). I didn't tell EVERYONE until I was 13 weeks along (the method used for THAT is not mentioned here).

Nina's ideas – then – are somewhat autobiographical. Her reaction and – ultimately - what she decides is not. (The thing about the rare steak and tater tots, yeah, I totally gorged on that for the first few weeks of my pregnancy. The bloodier the better. I would – literally – dip and slide the tater tots in A1 and the blood/juice from the steak. And for the record, I still love rare steak XD AND in case anyone is wondering if it's okay to eat rare steak, my doc told me it wasn't recommended but if my body was craving it that strongly and I wasn't getting sick after eating, it probably meant I needed something in that bloody steak . . . the mac and cheese obsession came directly after I was done with steak . . . I ate mac and cheese with breaded boneless pork ribs nearly every night for two weeks).

Also – one more note – about Nina's very short, very unsure thought about possibly breastfeeding. I breastfed for 8 months and it was the BEST experience ever. I was one of those lucky women that had a child that was a champion latcher and felt no pain (only a very slight discomfort). If I had been able, I would have breastfed my son until he self-weaned.

Unfortunately, I did not have the supply to exclusively breastfeed and – later – once I started back at work and tried to pump as much as possible, my supply decreased until I was no longer able to continue – despite trying every supply increase method available. I fully support and encourage moms to breastfeed if they can. That being said, it is a personal decision which every woman should come to on her own. And if you know someone who is thinking of or is breastfeeding, please, do her a big favor and DO NOT discourage, belittle, or undermine her efforts. If you are squeamish about bare breasts (other than for sexual purposes), do her and yourself a favor and leave the room when she needs to feed the baby. If it doesn't bother you, show your support by sharing a praising or encouraging word or by getting her a glass of water or doing some dishes/laundry/housework for her while she nurses. I guarantee she feels she doesn't get nearly enough support but does get an overabundance of negativity.

All of that being said, many thanks to Emaniahilel for allowing me to borrow her characters Nina and Paul as well as the Fableverse in all it's fanon glory. You. Are. The. Best.

Honey Bun

By Kysra

The day passes in a haze of movement, instinct, and quiet; but Nina can't seem to make sound – an odd occurrence. One that her coworkers in the emergency triage unit comment on often as the hours tick away to her shift's end.

Vaguely, she wonders if she shouldn't have taken today off. She had stayed away from the radiation department, been especially careful when dealing with needles and bodily fluids, and made sure to wash her hands about a gazillion times; but now, as she closes her locker and begins walking toward her car, fingers playing with her car keys, she wonders absently if it was enough.

Pausing midstep, the idea hits her: _How am I going to tell my boss?_

And then, _How am I going to tell_ Paul?

With great force of will, she decides to stop thinking in questions and begins to walk again, through the long corridor passing into the atrium and medical arts buildings before exiting near the parking garage and trekking to the elevator and – finally – finding her car at the far end.

She feels unusually ( _or maybe it was going to become usual)_ bone-deep exhausted. There's a moment she thinks that – perhaps – it would have been wise to call someone to pick her up, but the thought is summarily thrown out. She had just worked a very busy twelve hour shift after enduring a three hour doctor visit early that morning. The fifteen minutes it would take to drive to her house wouldn't make much difference.

And she was off for the next four days . . . she would have time to recharge then (if recharging is possible . . . )

Taking extra care to buckle her seat belt, check her mirrors, and double check that the headlights were working, Nina drives out of the parking garage without incident, allowing her mind to drift where it wants.

Seriously, she should not be so shocked. She and Paul had decided long before they were married that if children were in their future, fantastic. If not, that was okay too. They had never actively tried nor had they actively prevented pregnancy; and now that they had reached forty, well . . . she had been certain any child-bearing years her body had entertained had run out.

And though numbness had set in as soon as she had taken the home test and only become magnified with the doctor's verification, even with her lack of identifiable emotion, she knows she isn't **un** happy. She just doesn't quite know if it's okay to _be_ happy.

As an ER nurse, she knows – probably better than most – how tenuous new life can be; and with her "advanced maternal age" . . . she doesn't want to get her hopes up – especially when she was so OKAY with being childless before – only to suffer a loss; and dear sweet God, all the children she knew are pretty much grown now! Vicky had just entered college and Victor's youngest is a senior in high school!

 _I am too old to be having a baby!_ and then . . . _What will my MOTHER say?_ Nevermind. Her mother would be thrilled (and possibly grandma-crazy enough to want to come live with them for a while to help take care of the baby). Or worse, what would her _father_ say? He would know for SURE now that she had sex! Nevermind that she had given it up to Paul when they were all of seventeen; nevermind, that she had been married for twenty years . . . which had started out with a very lengthy stay at a tropical island that was only somewhat known for it's permissive attitude toward going topless; if Dad had any doubts as to her sexual activity, they would be gone, gone, gone.

And how on earth were they going to work the baby into their schedules? Paul worked at the garage from sunrise to sundown and there were days she didn't even come home! It was amazing this kid had even been conceived!

THAT thought leads to a silly grin lining her features. Oh, she knew how the kid was conceived . . . did she ever.

She shakes her head as she pulls into her garage, BUT it didn't change the fact that they weren't prepared for a baby. And – dear sweet Lord – how their friends would _laugh_. Tears begin dripping down her face for no apparent reason as she cries, suddenly and without warning. She doesn't feel like herself anymore.

And she is so TIRED. And what is with the HEAT. She can feel waves of it wafting off her skin like she has some invisible sunburn, a fever or suddenly decided to emulate a desert.

Wiping her cheeks, she takes a deliberate long breath before exiting the vehicle and stomping over to the entryway. First, she needs to calm down. Then, she'll feed herself (a rare steak with tater tots and steak sauce sounded nice . . . maybe some macaroni and cheese). Next will be a nice long soak in the tub (though not too hot . . . she knows hot baths will be a forgone memory for a while) and then, sleep. Lovely, wonderful, longed-for, uninterrupted (or Paul might find himself on the sofa for life) sleep.

And God help the alarm clock in the morning. She might as well put it in their budget to buy a few replacements. Just in case.

Helplessly, bonelessly, she sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and allows her neck to roll back, mouth slack and eyes closed, just breathing and resisting the urge to place her hand on her lower tummy.

"I'm going to get BIG." She says out loud to no one. "But I guess it's okay . . . It's not really fat, just . . a whole 'nother human being." That's right, she thinks, I'm growing a human. A whole boy or girl who will be a baby then a toddler then a child then a teenager then an adult who will possibly do something completely amazing with his or her life. All Nina has to do is make sure not to screw up the kid in the process.

Or allow Paul to corrupt his or her little brain with video games.

They would have to stop watching so much television . . . line up a babysitter or four, research day cares and schools, start saving for college . . . fix up the extra bedroom, buy baby clothes and furniture. Would she breastfeed? . . . She raises her head to look down at her chest , touches one breast and winces at the tenderness there. Maybe. Maybe not.

They would have to think of names . . . and would it be plausible to make the baby food themselves.

Speaking of food . . . Her stomach is growling in supplication. Sluggish and feeling like it was a good idea to forgo dinner and the bath to go to bed NOW, she sighs heavily and pushes herself to standing, schleps over to the frig and starts preparing her (barely cooked) steak and tater tots. The macaroni would have to wait until a later date . . . like tomorrow for breakfast or something.

As the steak sizzles on the griddle, she stares at the range light dreamily thinking about all the manner of ways macaroni and cheese leftovers can be used. Her mouth waters and out-of-the-blue the realization comes:

 _I'm going to be a MOM._

She almost shrieks but catches herself and looks down, wide-eyed and mouth agape, smoothing a hand down her now-flat abdomen. "Wow . . . this is really happening. I'm going to have to start wearing mom jeans and granny panties. Good bye Victoria's Secret. I'm sure Paul will miss you more than I will." A grin makes its way to her lips as she giggles just a bit, feeling just a little excited . . . and misty.

Paul. He'll be such a wonderful father, she knows. And she doesn't think she'll be such a slouch of a mom either. "I'll do my best, okay, baby? Just . . . try to forgive us if we mess up. You only learn so much about having kids when you're just an aunt and uncle. It's going to be a learning experience for all of us."

She takes the steak off the griddle to rest in her plate before sliding the tots into the oven and begins to brain storm how to break the news to her husband.

There was the tried, true, and classically simple 'look him in the eye and just say it' method; but Nina wasn't a simple woman. She was creative, sometimes over-the-top, and appreciated grand gestures. And if ever there was a time to pull out a grand gesture, it was now . . . but not TOO grand. She had a limited time to pull something together so . . . maybe something subtle yet memorable . . .

Maybe a special flower arrangement? A dozen roses . . or carnations – the flower of motherhood (something she had learned from Raven some time ago). Six pink and six blue with a note saying something like 'Love from your future son or daughter'? Or, better, eleven pink and one yellow, the note saying, 'Eleven pink roses from your wife and one yellow from you future child.' She rather likes that one . . . except Paul – while he would definitely appreciate it – isn't a send-me-flowers type of guy.

She supposed she could get a t-shirt made or something . . . Ooooh, how about a "baby on board" shirt or "Mommy-to-be" or something specifically for Paul like, "Baby Daddy" or "Daddy-in-Training". She suddenly wishes they had a dog or cat, a pet she could dress in a "Big brother" or "big sister" outfit.

No . . . those ideas , while nice, are much too obvious and what would they do with the shirt afterwards?

Nina pauses in her musings long enough to grab some steak sauce and begin sawing into her beautiful, bright red, succulent, tender as butter, steak. The first bite is heaven, causing her eyes to roll back, toes curling, a whimper breaking from her throat. She digs in, telling herself to slow down a bit, the tater tots will be out momentarily; and with mammoth effort, she begins pacing herself, counting to 100 as she chews before setting her fork and knife down and counting to 100 again before taking another bite.

When the oven timer 'dings', she fairly dances out of her chair; and once the tater tots are set, half finding their way into her plate, she allows her thoughts to once more drift into "confession" territory.

She no longer had the stick that started it all . . . had thrown it in the trash and – ashamedly – buried it in said trash by taking garbage from the bags outside and strategically hiding all evidence. She sort of regrets that now because while it wouldn't be as subtle as she'd like, she could have gift wrapped the thing and given it to Paul for their eighteenth wedding anniversary in a week.

Then again, she had never been very good at keeping secrets like this. She would probably end up talking to the baby or saying something about fixing up a nursery before their anniversary and spoiling the surprise.

Okay . . . so . . . maybe something more visual. Something that would inspire a sudden realization or conversation. Maybe gift wrapped framed baby photos of themselves with a third frame without a picture . . . or she could fill the frame with a little note saying something like, "Baby coming soon."

She shakes her head even as she spears her fork into a tater tot, slathers it in steak sauce and blood juice before stabbing another piece of meat. Distantly she wonders at how much food she can fit into her mouth when this determined.

An idea comes to her and she giggles around her meal. She could – at bedtime tonight, granted Paul is home – come out full on nude with a ribbon tied around her waist and note hanging from said ribbon saying, "Enjoy it while it lasts. Baby bump on the way!" It is a little naughty but Nina thinks that she deserves to have some fun with this. After all, who knows how long her waistline will last . . . heck, who knows how long her _libido_ (not to mention her good appetite and non-sick state) will last.

. . . And when the inevitable question came, she does NOT want to tell her child that she announced the impending arrival with _sexy time_.

She immediately throws out the notions of poetry and scavenger hunt. Paul is not an avid reader (and certainly not a connoisseur of poems) and – though good-humored – she doubts he will take working for his surprise with much grace.

As Nina mournfully raises the last bite of meat and potato to her lips (shamelessly weighing the decency of licking the remaining meat juice and sauce from the plate), her eyes scan the kitchen for clues as to the perfect mode of announcement and hits pay dirt when she spots the flour can.

She's tired . . . and she'll have to take a few short cuts, but – she takes a glance at the wall clock – she can have everything prepared for Paul's arrival in three hours. And though, she knows it's most likely been done before, she has no doubt the gesture will be appreciated.

After all, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

A few hours later finds Paul, tired but looking forward to a nice evening with his wife (and dinner), walking into his home and welcomed by the comforting scent of fresh baked bread . . . and a disaster of a mess in the kitchen.

Nina is notably not in the kitchen and he can hear the rhythmic sound of her snoring coming from the living room. He strolls there, entertaining the immature (but still hilarious) thought of dropping a few ice cubes into her pants. She's curled up on the couch, looking as if she had simply allowed herself to fall backward onto the cushions. Lying flat on her back, her head is tilted at an awkward angle, just shy of a decorative pillow's edging, arms spread wide open – one poised even with a shoulder, the other suspended haphazardly over the floor, her legs a similar display. Her mouth is open wide as she snores, but – he has to admit – she looks ridiculously cute and completely peaceful.

He also notes that she – unlike the kitchen – is clean, her hair holding that freshly washed shine, her skin free of makeup, and her body dressed in her very comfiest pajamas.

She must not be feeling well. He _had_ noticed that she seemed a little more tired than usual lately, and she did seem to be flirting with a fever for the last few days or so.

He decides, ultimately, not to wake her. She deserves a little rest.

Carefully, he squats next to her, brushes stray hair from her forehead and plants a kiss there, smiling as she snorts loudly and shifts in her sleep. It still sort of amazes him that she chose him, that it hasn't truly set in after all these years.

Shaking his head at himself, he backtracks to the kitchen to first clean up the mess, then cook something for himself. And as he looks about for the bread he smells, he realizes with some alarm, the oven is still on. Nina had fallen asleep while something was cooking!

He takes note that the oven timer states that eight minutes are left till whatever is baking is ready; but he can't stop himself from taking a peek.

What greets his eyes makes him somewhat flabbergasted, for where he expected to find a homemade loaf, he instead sees a small, egg shaped _bun._

 **A** bun. As in _single._

What the hell? Had he done something to offend her lately that she suddenly didn't want to cook enough for him to share?

"It's a bun." Nina's sleep-riddled voice finds him from behind. He jumps and whirls in surprise in response.

"I thought you were asleep!"

She smiles softly. He can't help but smile back, taking her in his arms and giving her a proper kiss hello. Her body sags a little – whether because he's just that good of a kisser or for lingering fatigue, he doesn't really want to know. When they come up for air, she gives him a strange sort of probing look.

"It's a bun."

Paul is somewhat taken aback at her insistent tone, confused that she feels the need to repeat something so obvious, "I know . . . " And then because he thinks she may need a little encouragement, "It's a very nice bun."

Nina rolls her eyes even as a yawn takes her. "It's a bun." She gives him another one of those probing looks then very slowly adds, "In the oven," as her finger comes up to point to the oven.

Not getting what – exactly – she's driving at (it's a bun, so what?), Paul makes a show of twisting he head to glance at the oven before verifying that, yes. There is a bun, and it _is_ _indeed_ in the oven. Just to make absolutely sure nothing has changed in the last few moments, he takes the few steps to open the oven door one more time to point to the solitary, still cooking, bun.

Nina's grin takes up her whole face as she very pointedly cups her lower abdomen with both hands and nods, "Exactly. There _is_ a _bun_ in the _oven."_

He stares at her face for a few seconds, understanding what she's saying but not really understanding what she's saying. He suddenly feels parched . . . and cautiously elated.

Hesitant, "Do you mean –"

An almost violent nod and excited giggle, "Uh huh."

Stepping closer. "You're sure?"

Teeth catching a bottom lip, "Yep."

Hands shaking, cupping her face, "We're talking about a baby, right? Not a bun you ate before I got here."

Another roll of eyes suppressing laughter, "Duh."

His smile is bright and shining (blinding really) and his cheeks are flaring red with suppressed mirth as he tries to keep his voice from shaking, "Imagine that, and here I always thought we'd get knocked in high school."

She hits him in the arm even as she laughs into his kiss. They're both trembling a little, she notes, and – finally – she feels free to be happy. It's strange, she thinks, how symbiotic their relationship is. She hadn't even realized she was waiting to be excited until he was.

Distantly, she hears the oven ring for their attention.

Paul is the first to pull away, "About that bun . . . "

Nina can't stop giggling around her words, "Wanna share?"

He suddenly turns serious, places a kiss upon her forehead, a hand upon her still-small tummy. "It'll be our first family meal."


End file.
